


you still make my crazy little heart go boom.

by badmeetsevil



Series: you still make my crazy little heart go boom. [1]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Falling In Love, First Date, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Meeting the Parents, Mild Sexual Content, Moving In Together, first encounter, nothing graphic at all, they are in love and what are you gonna do about it, this is not all of the things i just dont know how to tag, yall want fluff? eat up!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badmeetsevil/pseuds/badmeetsevil
Summary: the most important, most loving moments in will and tom's relationship.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Series: you still make my crazy little heart go boom. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696702
Comments: 24
Kudos: 99





	you still make my crazy little heart go boom.

**Author's Note:**

> rated m for mild sexual content. it starts at the line "When Tom tells Will he's ready..." and lasts that entire part, the last line being "They fall asleep, tangled in each other." it's not graphic (it's kind of sickly sweet hence the m rating over the e) but if you are most comfortable skipping it, that's fine! 
> 
> again i am not from england i dont know any slang i dont know much common slang if i use a strictly american word here i am sorry but i am a simple man
> 
> title from boom by simple plan which is an awful song but it fits okay shh

Two in the morning on a Saturday in June, Tom wipes down the counter of the chain coffee shop he works at. He closes in half an hour, and hasn’t seen a customer for at least forty-five minutes. The girl working with him has gone home, and Tom waved her away with a smile, telling her that he would close up with ease. 

Will walks into the coffee shop, alerting the boy behind the counter when the door opening causes a tiny bell to ring. “Goddammit,” Tom whispers under his breath, but then Tom calls out from the back of the shop, “Good evening! Give me one moment!” He takes his phone off of the two cups he was balancing it on to watch a movie, and shoves it into his front apron pocket. 

Will catches a glimpse of the barista before he has a proper chance to look at Will. His hair is obviously curled, tucked away neatly underneath a baseball cap with the chain’s logo on it. He’s soft, sweet looking, and wears a simple white t-shirt with lettering that Will can’t properly see as it’s obscured by his uniform apron. His nails are sloppily painted black, a detail Will notices when his fingers are wrapped around the cash register, and a small enamel pin of a pride flag rests next to his name tag. 

He’s gorgeous.

Will almost doesn’t hear him when he asks, “What can I get for you tonight?” 

As the man looks at the menu board behind him, Tom gets a chance to check him out. For starters, the man looks like he hasn’t slept a wink in days. His eyes are shadowed by darkened bags, but he still remains looking sharp, like he’s used to this. His eyes scan the board, mumbling lightly to himself while he debates between two things. He’s wearing a hoodie, _in the middle of the fucking summer_ , and nicely fitted jeans. His hands are strong, and they find their way into the back pocket of his jeans, taking out his wallet. 

Tom can’t stop looking at him. He almost forgets he’s working. 

“Can I just get a black coffee?” He asks, “Large, if you will.”

Tom nods, and rings him up quickly, trying not to gag at his choice to drink black coffee. “Three fifty-seven,” he tells him, and Will takes his credit card out of his wallet, hands it to him. When Tom takes it, their fingers almost brush, and it leaves Tom fighting back a blush for whatever fucking reason. 

“You the only one working here tonight?” Will asks, taking his card back from Tom (their fingers _do_ brush this time) and putting it back into his wallet. 

Tom nods, “Other girl went home, just little ol’ me tonight, happens quite a bit,” he explains as he brews a fresh pot for the man. 

“Suppose I should come by more often if it’s just gonna be you around, huh?” Will asks, leaning on the countertop area where drinks would be placed on business afternoons. Will worries he’s coming on too strong, but at the same time, he’s too fucking exhausted to even notice what he’s saying. 

Tom gives a small laugh and fights back the blush in his cheeks until it’s barely pink. “I suppose I should keep taking the night shifts if I keep getting to meet handsome men like yourself, huh?” Tom replies, a bit snarky but honest nonetheless, “What’s got you here? We close in like, twenty.” 

“I’m a bartender, I just got off my shift,” Will explains, “Needed a bit of a pick me up before I head home to pass out.” 

Tom laughs and takes one of the large paper cups from the stack and subtly takes a Sharpie out of his pocket. He writes something quickly, sealing it with a heart at the end of it. “Long day for you, I suppose?” He asks, beginning to pour him a cup. 

“Always long, always full of stories though,” Will tells him as he watches him put a lid on his cup, “I love the job.” 

“That’s good then, right?” Tom asks and Will nods. He hands the coffee off to him, making sure that Will notices the black permanent marker on the white cup, “Enjoy.” 

Will takes the cup, and inspects the marker. A ten digit number and a heart. He smiles softly, looking from the cup and back to the boy, who has gone to wash dishes with a soft pink color rising to his cheeks. “You’ll be hearing from me soon, thank you for the coffee.”

“Go get some sleep,” Tom says, looking at him as he thoroughly washes a coffee pot. 

“I’ll do it for you,” Will replies with a smile, and Tom gives a genuine laugh. “I’ll see you around, goodnight.”

“Goodnight!”

Tom doesn’t turn back around until he hears the bell above the door jingle, and then he lets out a shaky breath. He feels powerful, but almost feels like a dumbass. Why did he just give him his number? Why didn’t he make a move? _Did_ he make a move? They were flirting, right? That was flirting? Did he come on too strong if they were flirting?

Tom relaxes when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. 

\--

Tom is coming over to Will's flat at seven o'clock. It's currently six o'clock and Will is panic cleaning, trying to make everything look good enough for Tom. 

After spending a few days casually texting, Will initiated the idea of a date. He asked Tom to come over to his flat so he could make him dinner, and Tom practically swooned at the idea. He accepted immediately, and Will opted for him to come over that night. 

When Tom accepted, Will suddenly realized he had absolutely no food in his flat to serve him. 

All he has in his fridge is pasta sauce, some various frozen meats in his freezer, two bottles of half-empty red wine, and other odds and ends. Will, by the grace of God, finds a box of pasta in the back of his cabinet. Pasta is a decent dish for a first date, right? Making him instant pasta and premade sauce is comparable to taking him out to eat at a nice Italian restaurant, right? 

God, he hopes this is enough. 

Will finishes the pasta and tops it with… fuck if he knows, basil or something. He takes the only two wine glasses he has out of the freezer and places them next to the plates and cutlery on the table. One of the half open bottles of red wine will do, for now, at least. He’ll get better wine when he actually gives himself the time he needs to cook a proper meal for him, instead of getting all giddy and accepting a date immediately. 

He takes a candle out of his closet, nothing too fancy, a previously unlit candle he got as a Christmas gift from his mother. It smells of lavender and lemon, and Will is honestly surprised he’s never lit it before. He’s never had a reason to. He puts the small candle in the middle of the table, next to an empty flower vase that has been empty for months. 

He almost shouts when there’s a knock at his door, five minutes before eight. 

Will does a quick once over of how he looks in the bathroom mirror. His hair is nicely done, he’s wearing a nice short-sleeved button up shirt tucked into some slacks. He looks nice, presentable, handsome, even. 

He takes a breath, whispers to himself, “You’ve got this, Will,” and goes to open the door. 

Tom stands in the hallway, brandishing a smile. He has on a floral print short-sleeved button up shirt, half tucked into a pair of tight black jeans. When Will looks him in the eye, returns the smile, he swears that Tom is wearing some sort of mascara. 

“You look beautiful,” Will says before he has a chance to think. 

Tom laughs, practically giggles in delight, and to cover up the almost embarrassment and distract himself from his own blush, replies, “You don’t look too bad yourself!” 

Will steps out of his way, and gives him access to his flat. When he walks in, and sees the table with the candle and the two chilled wine glasses and the empty flower vase and he _swears he can hear some sort of classical music playing_ , he laughs. A hearty, genuine, almost nervous laugh that causes him to bring his hands up to cover his mouth in pure glee. It’s just like in the movies. 

“This is so cute,” Tom says, the smile on his face contagious, and all Will can do is look at him. He guesses that this is enough. 

Will serves them food, pours each of them a glass of wine to start with, and the night goes swimmingly. 

The night is full of laughs and stories. Will tells Tom about a girl at the bar the other day who stood up on the bar and accidentally crushed a wine glass under her foot. Tom tells Will about the man he had to chase out of the coffee shop with a broom because he kept threatening his co-workers. Will tells Tom about his mother and how she’s a writer, how she always is so elegant with her words, like she spends hours picking them, even in text messages. Tom tells Will about his brother and how he’s off overseas, tells him about the orchard that his mother owns back home, and how he misses it every spring when the blossoms start blooming. 

Will learns that Tom is lactose intolerant, and Tom calls it ironic since he works with milk everyday. Tom learns that Will can’t eat seafood because it upsets his stomach too much, even though he doesn’t have an allergy. 

They’re a little bit drunk by the time the night ends. 

Tom leaves Will’s flat at one in the morning. Will calls him a cab.

\--

They often have dates at Will’s flat to avoid disturbing Tom’s flatmate. She’s a kind girl, her name is Rebecca, but she has online classes so Tom doesn’t want to disturb her if she’s working later into the evening. 

But today, Rebecca doesn’t have class and has gone out. So, Tom has invited Will over. “She’ll only be gone for maybe an hour, you could meet her if you’d like!” Tom tells Will over text message, and Will accepts. Tom only lives a few blocks away from Will’s building, a ten minute walk. He’s there in seven.

They sit on the couch, Tom leaning into Will’s shoulder, and they watch a film together in comfortable silence. Will learns that Tom watches films with subtitles on so that he can “follow it more closely.” 

Tom subconsciously has his hand in Will’s, and Will’s hand gently rubs Tom’s shoulder, bringing him closer to him, so that Tom’s head is gently, comfortably laying against his chest. 

Rebecca comes home early, but all she does is peak into the living room, and notices that Will is there with Tom. Not wanting to disturb them, she slowly retreats into her room, shuts the door as silently as possible, and texts Tom. 

_have you kissed him yet?_

_not yet, do you think i should?_

_YES!!!! look how close he’s bringing you to him, he’s practically begging you to kiss him._

Tom looks up at Will, who still has his arm around Tom’s shoulders, gently rubbing it with his thumb, comforting. He texts Rebecca back quickly. 

_oh my god you’re right…_

Then, he pauses… texts her again.

_wait are you home already???_

She doesn’t respond. 

Will gets up to leave at about ten o’clock, explains that he’s got a bit of a headache and should probably go get some sleep. Tom understands completely, and walks him to the door, and they haven’t broken their hands apart yet. 

“Can I come see you tomorrow?” Will asks, rubbing his thumb over Tom’s knuckles, “Or you could come over to my place tomorrow?”

Tom nods, “Absolutely, I would love that.”

Will smiles that genuine smile of his, the one that spreads to his eyes. “I will see you then,” Will tells him, breaks their hands apart, and goes to walk out the door. He has his hand on the knob, when Tom suddenly breaks back to reality, the reality being that _oh my God, he REALLY wants to kiss Will._

“Will, wait.”

Will turns around immediately, and is met by Tom reaching his head up and putting his arms around Will’s neck, bringing him down for a sweet kiss. Instinctively, one of Will’s hands goes to Tom’s waist, the other to his face, pressing their bodies closer together. They kiss softly, long and gentle. 

When Tom pulls back, he looks Will in the eye. “Sorry,” he apologies, for some reason, “I couldn’t help myself.”

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits to Tom, “I’m glad you did it, now I don’t have to wait any longer.”

Tom laughs, and Will pulls him back in for another kiss. 

\--

When Tom tells Will he’s ready, ready to take their relationship to the next level, the more physical level, Will’s a little surprised. They’ve been together about two months, but they’re both already so comfortable with each other, comfortable in a way that makes people think they’ve been together for at least a year. 

But, nonetheless, Will has Tom in his bed. They kiss gently, Will’s hand rests on Tom’s hip, pushes his shirt up to expose his soft, warm skin. Will pulls away from Tom’s lips, leaving Tom pushing forward to look for more, which causes Will to smile. “I need you to tell me if I am going too fast for you, alright?” Will tells him.

Tom nods immediately, and goes back to kiss Will again. Will’s lips are so gentle, so caring, like the feeling of his lips resembles exactly how Will speaks, how Will treats him. Tom is soft all over, and his lips are no exception to that. He tastes like citrus, and Will could kiss him all day. 

Will slowly changes their positions, so Tom is under his body, back laying flat on Will’s bed. Tom pulls away for air, and Will laughs a little, hands going to the hem of Tom’s shirt. “Can I take this off of you?” He asks, voice soft, like it could hurt Tom if he spoke too loud. 

Tom whispers, “Yes, please.”

Will smiles, removes his shirt slowly, _slowly_ , from his body, like he's opening a gift he's been wanting for years, up and over his head, exposing a new layer of soft skin for Will to touch, to kiss, and he does just that. Will kisses a line down Tom’s chest, onto his stomach, down to the top of his jeans, and then back up to his neck. He takes his lips off of Tom's neck, places his face above his, so close that their noses touch.

"Hi," Will gently says through his row of perfect teeth, hand going up to softly caress the smooth skin of his chest.

Tom gives a nervous little laugh, whispers, "Hi," as he wraps his arms around Will's neck. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Will whispers softly, like he didn't mean to, hand going from Tom's chest to stroke his thumb across his cheek. Tom blushes like a mad man, red like he's been in the sun for too long.

He might as well be.

“I wanna see you, too,” Tom tells him, "You're not the only one who's gonna get lucky tonight." He hides his nerves behind a not funny joke that he doesn’t think about before saying, but Will still gives a half-chuckle to try and ease his nerves, as his shaking fingers go to unbutton Will’s navy green button-up. He pushes it off of his shoulders, revealing toned muscle and tight skin. Tom’s soft hands run across it, across his chest and his abs, and he whispers out, “You’re perfect.”

“That’s you, baby,” Will says, calling him ‘baby’ before he can even think about it, and then dipping down to kiss Tom’s perfect lips again. Tom’s hands reach around Will’s back, feeling his toned shoulders and running down the smooth flesh of his back. Will pulls away from Tom, but remains close enough to him that when he speaks, ghostly little breaths tickle Tom’s face, “Do you want to go further? We can stop if you want, or we could do something else-.”

“Please, Will,” Tom tells him, “just take my fucking jeans off.” 

Will does not have to be told twice. 

They’re naked now, every piece of each other physically, all flesh bared, nothing to hide. Suddenly put up against a man with a beautifully toned body, Tom can't help but feel shy, almost insecure. He tries to cross his legs, to cover up a little, but Will keeps praising the areas he mostly detests. Will's strong hands rest lightly on his hips, lovingly rubbing circles into them with his thumbs, gently kissing Tom's stomach, almost tickling, almost ripping out giggles from the younger man. 

Will can’t stop looking at Tom. He’s unbelievably perfect. His soft thighs, the gentle way he moans when Will kisses his inner thigh, the way he secures himself to Will’s waist by wrapping his legs around him when he finally is ready to stop being shy.

Tom is so in awe at how gentle Will is. He really is a gentle giant. He lets Tom take his time, giving him time to break out of his insecurities, to allow Will to touch him in the most intimate of areas. He asks Tom before he does anything if it’s okay if he does this or that, if he can touch him here, or if he likes what he’s doing for him. He’s so considerate, he genuinely wants this to be a good, touching experience for both of them. 

Will is gentle, in every sense. He’s gentle with his touches. He’s gentle when he works to slowly get him ready, to keep him comfortable. He’s gentle when he makes them fully connected, and two bodies become one. 

They make love all night. They get to know each other on a deeper level. They laugh, they smile, they make jokes, they moan, they spend the night relearning each other. 

They fall asleep, tangled in each other. Tom spends the night. 

\--

Tom has a tendency to babble. Will loves it. Tom could talk for hours about a specific topic, a topic that Will knows nothing about, but a topic that Tom is specifically interested in on that day, and Will will gladly sit back, shut his eyes, and just listen to him talk. 

Today, Tom is talking about Shakespeare. 

He’s gotten back into reading poetry again, and has been specifically interested in Sonnet 108, one of the sonnets that is mostly argued to be about one of Shakespeare’s male lovers. “Of course I’m into Shakespeare,” Tom tells Will in the middle of his ramblings, “I’m gay.” Will laughs. 

Tom reads the sonnet to Will, and Will has never found a person’s voice to be so soothing, so relaxing, then he does when Tom recites, “Nothing, sweet boy; but yet like prayers devine/I must each day say o’er the very same/Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine/Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name.” He lets out a relaxed breath, as, while reading, Tom sits on the couch next to him, leans into his chest, and Will plays with his boyfriend’s hair. 

_Boyfriend_. It feels so good to say that. 

Will swears he could die here, he could die here listening to Tom read a Shakespeare sonnet and explain each line like it’s gospel for him, and he would die happy. He would go into heaven and be greeted with a mantra of Tom’s voice, each reading their own individual sonnets, Tom’s favorites which change depending on the day. 

Will doesn’t need to respond to Tom, just wants to listen, wants to absorb everything that his boyfriend tells him. He wants to understand it more so that he can have a deeper conversation with him about it. He wants to be able to contribute more to the conversation, rather than just sit there. 

When Tom asks him a question, he doesn’t fully hear it. 

When Will opens his mouth involuntarily to answer it, he tells Tom, “I love you.”

Silence fills the room. You could hear a pin drop, or a mouse in the walls, or the neighbors above them. 

“You what?” Tom asks, genuinely taken aback. He feels the same way, but he’s too shocked to say anything but that. Will’s fingers continue to twirl Tom’s curls around his fingers, and then Will realizes that Tom has stopped talking. 

He looks down at him, “Are you alright, baby?” 

“What did you just say?”

Will freezes. What _did_ he just say? 

“You just told me you loved me.”

Will opens his mouth to say something, closes it to think, opens it again, then closes it again. He has no idea what to say. He doesn’t want to apologize for saying it because he means it. He wants to apologize for saying it so soon, for saying it before Tom might be ready. They look at each other, and Tom is sitting up, pulling himself into Will’s lap, and kissing him hard, deep. 

“I love you too,” Tom whispers against Will’s lips, a statement that he’s known forever but has just gotten the courage to say. 

_Thank God._

Will wraps his arms around Tom, holds him tight, kisses him deep. “I love you,” he whispers in between kisses when they pull away from each other for breath, “I love you, I love you so much.”

\--

When Tom’s lease at his old flat ends, Rebecca abruptly tells him five days before they’re supposed to resign that she can no longer live there. She is moving back home to go to an actual university, and will no longer be living in this state. 

That wouldn’t be an issue if a) she told Tom about it sooner, b) she had given him a little more time to figure something out, or c) he was able to afford the flat’s rent on his own. She’s fully moved out in two days. 

He calls Will, and Will immediately knows something’s wrong, so he puts his hoodie on as the bitter threats of winter fill the November air, and starts his way to Tom’s flat. 

“I can’t afford this flat, Rebecca just fucking left to go back home, I don’t know what to do,” he rambles into the phone, voice breaking from holding back tears, “I’m supposed to resign my lease in like two days, or tell my landlord that I’m moving out, or he might evict me, who fucking knows.” 

“You can come move in with me,” Will says, completely serious, “I could come over right now and help you pack. I’ll call out for tonight, we can go pack your things, you could move in tonight. You’re fucking blind if you think I’m gonna let you go out on the street or something. No, you’ll move in with me.”

"You don't need to do that for me, I don't want to be a bother-."

"Baby," Will's voice is stern, firm enough to break through the thick wall of stress that has built around Tom’s brain, "if you have no place to live, you will come live with me. You will have a stable roof over your head as long as you need, or as long as you like." Will wants to say, _you could stay forever, if you'd like, we could be together forever, my bed could become our bed, it can be just the two of us_ , but avoids it, as to not overwhelm him.

Will wants to tell Tom just how much he loves him.

Tom fucking sobs. 

He loves him so much. 

“Do you want me to come over?” Will asks, but he’s already halfway there. 

Tom wipes his eyes, whispers out, “Yeah, I’m sorry, please.”

“Don’t apologize,” Will tells him, completely sincere, gentle worry in his voice, “I’ll be there in two minutes, baby, okay? I’ll ring your bell, just buzz me in.”

“I love you,” Tom whispers on the phone, going into his bedroom and sitting down on the carpet. Rebecca took most of the furniture when she moved, considering most of it was hers to begin with, leaving him mostly to have to pack his own room and some of the things in the living room. Rebecca is a good friend, she just had a tendency to not think before she acted. 

“I love you too, baby, I’ll be there soon,” And Will hangs up, speeding up once again. 

Tom gets up off his floor, throwing his phone to hit the carpet with a soft _thud_. He goes to the door, waiting for Will so he could buzz him in, thinking about how he’s gonna tell his landlord that he’s moving out, how he’s gonna have to tell Will’s landlord that he’s moving in. 

He feels like he’s in his head forever, and then Will rings the bell. Tom buzzes him in, and there’s a knock at the door not even a minute later. 

Tom opens the door and Will engulfs him in a hug, whispers to him that he loves him and that everything is gonna be okay, that they’ll be out of here tonight, together. He kisses Tom gently on the forehead, holds him close, asks him, “Do you know anyone with a car we could borrow to take your stuff back to my place?” 

Tom can’t think straight, shrugs so that Will can feel it, and Will rubs his back. “Alright, honey, let’s pack, come on,” he tells him, “you’ll move in with me, baby, I’m not gonna leave you like this.” 

Tom kind of laughs, and they go into his room together, hand in hand. 

They’re able to relax as they pack using the leftover boxes that Rebecca left, the boxes that she ended up not needing. It’s three large boxes, plenty for one room. When Tom goes through everything, to distract himself from stress, he tells little stories about each little thing. He talks about a concert he went to and got a drink poured on him when he takes out a tour t-shirt. He talks about how he almost failed chemistry when he finds a chemistry textbook that he accidentally stole hidden deep in the back of his closet. He talks about minor family issues, and how his dad left when he was a teenager when he pulls a folded up pride flag off of the top shelf. He tells Will about his mother again, and shows him a picture of himself, his brother and his mother at some national park somewhere in the United States, talks about how close he and his brother are. 

Will doesn’t push any of the upsetting stuff, just listens.

It takes them five hours to properly pack Tom’s entire room, to peel the posters off the walls and to properly pack each picture frame by wrapping them in shirts. Will thinks about how beautiful Tom’s family photos will look around his flat, and Tom thinks about how he can’t wait to take new photos with Will. 

Will calls them a cab, and somehow fits all of their things into the car. 

It takes them two trips to bring all three boxes into the flat after getting them onto the elevator. Will stacks two of them on top of each other, and Tom puts the third one next to them. When they finish bringing them in, Tom throws his arms around Will’s neck, murmurs, “Thank you, thank you,” into his skin like it’s the only thing he knows how to say. 

“It’s nothing, angel, I promise you, I am so happy to have you here,” Will whispers into Tom’s curls, “To a new life, baby, let me make you a drink.” 

Tom nods, reaches up, and kisses Will like he’s starving for him. 

\--

The first gift Will ever buys for Tom is sudden. 

There’s no anniversary, no birthday, no special occasion, they’ve only been together about six months, Christmas isn’t for another three weeks. He doesn’t plan it, he doesn’t think about it, he doesn’t go out of his- no, _their_ one bedroom flat with his task being “buy my boyfriend a present.” He leaves their flat with the task being “buy milk.” 

The closest corner store that always has the milk that Tom can drink for less than two dollars (which shocks Will so much that he has started going exclusively there for milk) is three blocks from their building. The woman who works there is a kind hearted middle aged lady who always has nail polish on, but it is always chipped, like she has lived weeks in days. Her hair is short and lightly curled, and she always asks Will about “the missus.”

He always replies, “He’s fine.” She never catches on. 

It’s a beautiful morning. The sun is out, and the birds are singing, and it’s a perfect early winter morning, and the day has barely just begun. Will walks. 

He passes the small shops that are opening for the day. A florist, a baker, and the man who owns a produce shop are setting up their businesses. The florist sets up a new display of flower arrangements, the baker kicks down the door stopper to allow the scents of his shop to flow into the streets, the man who owns the produce shop sets out rounded, bright fruit into wicker baskets and labels them with little signs, details how much they cost per pound. 

It’s here where he notices the new jewelry shop. Or, at least, the jewelry shop that’s new to him. 

He doesn’t catch the name of the shop, but he catches the shimmer of something silver in the window. With further inspection, or just walking up to the fucking window, it’s a rack of necklaces. One catches his attention, the one just left of the center of the rank, a thin chain of silver and a small, vertical rectangular pendant with an engraving down it: _Je t’aime_. From his two years of French he took in high school, Will translates it in his head. 

It’s a simple necklace, but it’s strikingly beautiful to him. There’s something about it that catches him off guard. 

Tom would love it. 

He enters the shop, and acquires the attention of the man working behind one of the glass counters filled with jewelry. He’s an older gentleman, no later than sixty-five, with his glasses perched atop his head. He’s polishing the counter when Will enters, like he was expecting someone to come back, but he stops when he hears the tiny jingle of the bell above the door. 

“What can I do for you, son?” He questions Will as he wanders in. Will explains the piece in the window, and the man smiles. “Ah, one of the necklaces, ay? Those go for about fifty, chap, is that alright?” 

“More than alright,” Will responds, sincere, and the man gives him a warm smile. 

He exits from behind the counter and goes into the window display, carefully, _carefully_ , removing the chain from the rack, and bringing it back to the counter. Will strikes up a conversation about one of the pieces of art on his wall, and learns that the man’s daughter painted it. As he places the necklace gently into a box, like he’s handling a fine piece of priceless art, he asks Will about the jewelry he’s purchasing, “What’s her name?”

Will looks at him, blinks back his sudden confusion, and answers, “Uh, Thomas.” 

The gentleman selling him the necklace smiles, gives a small laugh, tells him, “I’m sure he’ll love it,” and shuts the box. Will tries not to notice when he rings him up for forty dollars instead of the originally mentioned fifty. 

Will’s back home in five minutes. 

Tom has woken up and stands in their tiny kitchen, eyes drifting sleepily from watching the tea kettle on the stove boil to the opening door of the flat. “Good morning,” Will says, drinking in the sight of his boyfriend. His hair is disheveled, his eyes are still glossy with sleep, he’s wearing one of Will’s hoodies. He’s enchanting, and Will can’t help but smile at the mere sight of him.

“Good morning,” Tom responds, voice still groggy with sleep. 

Will gets the tiny black bag out of his pocket and holds it up, “I’ve got something for you.” 

Tom’s brow furrows in confusion, but Will shrugs off his jacket as he walks into the kitchen, letting it drape over a box that they still have yet to unpack. “What’d ya do that for?” Tom asks, tone playful and grin spreading into a smile as Will gives him the small bag. 

Will doesn’t answer, instead watches Tom take the box out of the bag. He watches as Tom’s pupils dilate, and he looks from the box, back to Will, and back to the box. “You shouldn’t have…” Tom says, face going pink. He takes the top off of the box, and lets the chain wrap around his fingers, picking it up and taking it out to hold properly in the palm of his hand. His fingers graze the engraving, mouth forming the syllables he can’t properly pronounce but still understand. 

“Will…” Tom says, mouth opening and closing as if to say more but he can’t properly make the words out of what he wants to say. He’s shocked. He _loves_ it. 

“Something about it,” Will starts, eyes wide and dilated and just looking at the love of his life, “just made me think of you.”

“I love it.”

Will is relieved. 

“Can you put it on me?” Tom asks, voice shaky and soft. 

Will agrees, taking the necklace out of Tom’s palm and going up behind him, unclasping the chain to let it go around his boyfriend’s slender neck. As Will clasps it back together, the pendant drops to Tom’s chest, and Tom picks it up, to run his fingers over the engraving once again.

“Thank you,” he whispers, still genuinely touched by the gift. 

He turns slowly to Will, and Will leans forward a little bit to rest his forehead against the shorter man’s. Tom turns his head up slightly, and catches Will’s lips in a gentle kiss, soft like the morning light. They stay like that, caught in the moment, caught up in each other, and take each other in until the sound of the tea kettle screaming brings them both back to reality. 

Will laughs as Tom quickly breaks apart from him to go pour the water into his mug. “Did you get the milk while you were out?” He asks.

Will freezes. Tom laughs. 

\--

Will has never been this nervous before. 

They sit in the back of a cab, one day after their one year anniversary. God, it’s been a year already. Time flies with Tom, Will concludes, because no one has ever made him feel this way. No one has ever taught him to look at a sapling and see a tree, to see so much beauty in the little things. He’s never fallen in love so fast, and decides that if Tom were the only person he ever truly loved, he wouldn’t be surprised.

If Tom were the only real relationship he had, and he threw away his two high school girlfriends and the boyfriend he had for a few weeks when he started work at the bar, that would be enough. He’d be willing to give away all of his memories, good and bad, with these exes, just to spend the rest of his life with Tom.

He sees a future in Tom’s smile. 

“Why are you staring at me?” 

Tom’s voice breaks Will out of his thoughts, and he, of course, had zoned out and stared directly at his boyfriend’s face, as he sleepily looked out of the window of the cab. God, he could look at that face all day. Those lazy, sleepy, unfocused eyes. His little grin like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. 

“You’re really out of it, aren't you, love?” Tom asks, genuinely concerned. 

And once again, Will is snapped out of his “my boyfriend is beautiful and I could stare at him all day” thoughts. “Just a bit nervous,” he admits, and Tom puts his hand lovingly, soothingly, on his knee, gives it a gentle squeeze. Will nurses a bottle of white wine in his arm, places his free hand on top of Tom’s. 

“There’s no need,” Tom reassures him, for what feels like the fifteenth time that hour, “they’re going to love you.” 

They’re on their way for Will to meet Tom’s family for the first time, and Will would honestly not be surprised if today was the day that he died. He’s a little relieved that Tom’s family is minorly small, it’s just his mother and his older brother, but it still freaks him out half to death. Is he supposed to hug or kiss his mother? Is he supposed to shake his brother’s hand or hug him? What if he makes a fool out of himself? What if they don’t like him? What if they think he’s not good enough for Tom? Oh God, what if they disapprove of their relationship entirely? 

Tom kisses him on the cheek, like he can hear his thoughts running rapidly, and Will slows his breathing a little. 

When Will looks out the window, he realizes that everything Tom has ever said about his childhood home is right. It’s just like a fairy tale. It’s literally like a scene in the movies. Cherry blossoms fall lightly in the wind, blowing from the small orchard behind the clearly lived in house. The two-story wooden house, which almost looks like a log cabin, is stained by the conditions of weather, and Will watches as a young man, slightly older than himself, likely about twenty-seven, chases a dog in the front yard. He is shocked at the resemblance he bears to Tom. 

Will pays the cab driver while Tom goes to meet his brother, and hears a faint, “Tommy!” in the background as the driver pulls away. 

Will stands there for a moment, takes a deep breath, fumbles with the bottle a little bit, and turns around, only to see his boyfriend half collapsed on the ground, being attacked with kisses by a beagle. As he approaches the scene, Tom’s voice grows, excitedly answers the dog’s kisses with, “I know! I know! I’m home!” He stands there, fondly watching, and picks his head up to catch eyes with his brother.

_God, they really do look alike._

Tom’s brother looks at him and smiles. “You must be Will?” He asks, voice calm but seemingly firm. 

Will loses his voice and stutters out, barely, “That’s me.”

His brother, whose name he is _totally fucking blanking on right now_ , warmly returns him another smile, wider and inviting, and extends his hand out. “I’m Joseph, Tom’s brother,” he tells him, and Will almost exhales at the fact that he said his name, because _thank God, now he doesn’t have to guess_. 

Will switches the bottle from his left hand to his right, takes Joe’s hand tightly. “I’m Will,” Will replies, completely stuck in his nerves, sounding like an idiot. 

Joseph laughs, firmly shaking his hand, like you would an old friend. Tom rises from the floor, the dog still jumping up and trying to get more affection from him. He simply pushes her head away, laughing whenever she jumps too high. Then, suddenly, the dog realizes something.

_There’s another person here._

And she turns her attention to Will. She begins jumping on him, paws hitting him right in the stomach and upper legs, and Will laughs, gently roughhousing with her. He pushes her around and makes rough noises to goof off with her. Tom watches with a twinkle in his eye. Joe notices it and shoves his brother playfully. 

“That’s Myrtle,” Tom tells him, “and she’s just an attention whore! Aren’t you, Myrtle!” The dog barks happily in response. 

“Mum’s inside, Tommy, why don’t you guys go meet with her?” Joe suggests, picking up a big stick off the floor and gaining the dog’s attention almost immediately. He chucks the stick towards the back of the yard, and the dog bolts after it. “I’ll meet with you guys in a bit,” he tells the two. 

Tom nods, and extends his hand to Will, who gratefully takes it. Tom’s thumb runs gently over Will’s fingers, soothing, and he whispers, “she’s going to love you,” just loud enough for Will to hear him over the sounds of Myrtle running through the growing summer grass. 

The front door creaks when it opens, sending a sound of age right through the house, and Will can already hear metal tools clanking with pots and pans. “Is that my boy?” A gentle woman’s voice calls out from deeper in the house. 

Tom laughs, smiling brightly, “You in the kitchen?” 

“Where else!”

Will’s hand grips Tom’s even tighter, and Tom turns to him on his heels. He gently takes Will’s face in his and pulls him down to his level. “Listen to me,” Tom tells him, voice as soft as cotton, “she is going to adore you. You are the kindest man I have ever had the joy of knowing. Please, don’t be nervous, I promise you.” And he kisses him, soft and pillowy. 

God, Will loves him so much. 

Tom guides him gently, hand on his back for guidance and support, into the back of the house towards the kitchen. The kitchen is painted a gentle green color, cabinets are still white from a new coat, with a beautiful white oak table in the center of the room, surrounded by four matching chairs. In the center of it all is Tom’s mother, long, chestnut hair pulled back into a ponytail, white t-shirt underneath a long white apron. 

She’s so classic looking that Will is surprised he’s not in a movie right now. 

Tom knocks on the doorway and his mother spins around, letting out almost a gasp at the sight of her son. “There’s my boy!” She exclaims, placing the wooden spoon she’s working with onto the table, letting the sauce of whatever she’s making drip into a steady spot. “I missed you so much!” She tells him, throwing her arms around his frame, and he wraps his arms back around her, holding her tightly. 

She plants a big, loving kiss on her son’s cheek, and he laughs, jokingly pushing her away, “Mama!” 

Will watches, unsure what to do in this moment, until his mother turns to him. Her smile is warm and her face is round and her eyes are bright and _wow, everyone in this family is so strikingly similar_. “You must be Will, honey,” she lovingly says, approaching him with her arms open. Will gladly takes his place between them, accepting her loving embrace as she rubs his back, tells him, “I’ve heard _so_ much about you.” 

“Mama…” Tom says, warningly. 

“Like what?” Will asks, with a smile. 

“That’s enough!” Tom says, face going a slight shade of pink with embarrassment. Will laughs adoringly at his boyfriend, and Tom sticks his tongue out at him, but can’t fight back the little smile that gets to him. 

“It’s lovely to meet you, Ms. Blake,” Will tells her, voice sounding surprisingly less nervous than he expected himself to.

She laughs, “Please, sweetheart, call me Emily.” 

“Okay, Ms. Emily,” Will says, like he’s in fucking primary school. She laughs, he laughs, and Tom gives him an encouraging thumbs up from the opposite side of the doorway. 

The night is enchanting. Emily cooks like a charm, everything she makes is absolutely wonderful, perfectly seasoned and never overcooked and plated like she’s a professional chef. Even the non-dairy lemon meringue pie that she makes, which Will honestly doesn’t expect to like due to his disdain for meringue, is surprisingly delicious. 

Emily and Joseph spend the entire night telling embarrasing stories about Tom, much to Tom’s dismay, but to Will’s delight. 

Tom heads in for an early night, ending his first day of the weekend they will be spending there. Will stays up with Tom’s mother and brother, and they talk for hours. Will is told things he already knew about Tom’s past, and his mother thanks him, deeply from the bottom of her heart, for being so sweet, for treating her youngest son as “such a gem.” 

He doesn’t know how to respond, but he hopes his stuttered response of, “You’re welcome,” comes across as the genuine, heartfelt response that he wants to give. 

He goes to bed soon after that, a little tipsy off of the white wine, but it’s not his brain playing tricks on him when he hears Emily tell Joe, “He’s gonna treat him right.”

She’s right. 

\--

A year and a half has gone by since they met by chance in that coffee shop. A year and a half has gone by since Tom decided to test his luck and write his phone number on that cute guy’s cup. A year and a half has gone by since Will shot his shot by texting the number, “Hey!” and a few heart emojis. 

It all leads up to here. To Tom laying on what was once Will’s bed in Will’s flat, which has become _their_ bed and _their_ flat. To Tom being caked in golden sunlight, on one of the rare, sunny December days. To Tom watching Will make them pasta in his underwear. To falling in love. 

To Will getting out of bed an hour early each day just to make breakfast for Tom. To do that just because he wants to see Tom smile so early, hair all fucked up and eyes still sleepy. To Will waking up with Tom’s head buried in his chest. To Will making pasta in his underwear for them. To Will buying the ring. 

God, the ring sits in his coat pocket, the coat that’s draping over the couch, waiting, just waiting for the right moment. It took him fucking forever to buy that ring. He even roped Joe into helping him. He paid for his brother’s cab to come down to their town, bought him a simple lunch, and then made his brother go ring shopping for him. 

He thought Joe would be no help, but he really needed someone to back him up, to tell him whatever ring he was getting was the perfect one. But, surprisingly enough, Joe was pretty confident in helping Will pick out rings. Joe explained that Tom loved jewelry that was pretty, but not overly flashy, something he could show off but not feel like he was showing off, which was so fucking helpful for him. 

He loves the ring he got him, the gold ring with a small diamond in the middle. Flashy but not too flashy; easy to show off but hard to brag about. He prays that Tom likes it. 

Will admires the flowers in the flower vase on the kitchen table, white chrysanthemums. 

They eat their early dinner in comfortable silence, sounds of the streets coming over them. Will kisses Tom when he crosses his path, and Tom laughs when the sauce on his lip transfers over to Will’s lip. “Do you want to go get dessert?” Will asks, leaning on their counter, and Tom has that look in his eye that makes him think that this is an offer for sex, “no, no, no, I mean actually, lets go walk up the avenue and get like… shit if I know, something you love.” 

“Wanna go get cake?”

“Let’s go get cake, baby.”

And Tom laughs. 

Tom opts to take a shower first, to wash off the day of doing absolutely nothing. Will panics in their living room because he’s gonna do it, _holy shit, he’s gonna do it_. And he texts Joe in his panic, looking for advice, looking for any sort of distraction from his nerves. 

_I’m about to propose to your brother. I am incredibly nervous._

It’s way too formal but he’s too fucking nervous about it to care, so he waits. And he waits, and he waits, and he waits, a total of seven minutes that feel like a fucking eternity until the familar ping! of his phone goes off. 

_What’s the worst that could happen?_

Will replies immediately.

_The worst thing that can happen is that he says no, Joseph._

The response from Joe is immediate, and it honestly makes Will calm down a little bit. 

_Trust me, he’s not gonna say no. He’s fucking crazy about you, dude._

Then, Tom gets out of the shower, and all of his nerves come back. 

They share a simple slice of red velvet cake in the glow of the front lights of the bakery up the street. Tom feeds Will a bite, and Will suddenly realizes that, if everything goes right tonight, one day they will be doing this in a wedding hall. Feeding each other a bit of cake, while their entire families cheer and shout, and he’s overwhelmed with love and joy and longing for this moment. 

They stroll the streets, hand in hand, the frigid air slightly getting to them but Will is fucking sweating bullets so he’s okay. They reach a small park with the gate still open, street lights illuminating the pavement, and the two walk through. 

Tom tells a story, about one of the girls at the coffee shop the other day, about how she broke the cappuccino machine, and it’s funny, but Will is just looking for the perfect moment, when suddenly, he finds it. 

They stop just to the left of a street lamp, and the falling light illuminates Tom’s face so beautifully, allowing Will to look deep into the blues of his eyes and see everything in them. He sees their first kiss, their first date, their first “I love you,” their first time, everything plays back in his mind like an old VHS tape, a VHS tape that will remain in their home forever, because it is too important to pack away. 

It's now or never. 

Will takes Tom’s face in one of his hands, whispers, “Can I kiss you?” and Tom surges up and forward for his lips, answering the question and letting his arms reach up to his boyfriend’s neck. 

With the hand that’s not holding him, Will digs in his pocket, and _thank God_ , the ring box is still there. When his fingers brush the velvety box, he suddenly feels like he’s going to be sick, like he’s going to fuck up this perfect moment, this beautiful relationship that they’ve spent forever building. 

It's now or never. 

And Will is the one to pull away, but keeps his hand on Tom’s face, like he’s studying him, like he never wants to forget how he looks right now in this moment. 

“I love you,” Will whispers.

“I love you too. More,” Tom replies, going up and giving him another peck on the mouth. 

God, Will could stand here for hours, just gently swaying in the cold, December air. His hand holding the perflectly sculpted face of his lover that he swears God must have spent years trying to perfect. His other hand holding the box that will contain the answer to his future with him. 

And without thinking, Will drops to the pavement. 

“You’re lying,” Tom asks, hand going up to his mouth before Will has a chance to open the fucking box. But he does, he opens the little box, and the ring practically shines in the semi-light of the street lamp. Tears already begin to well up in Tom’s eyes. Will wants to say something elegant, something beautiful that will stick with Tom forever, something poetic or quote a Shakespeare sonnet that he loves or something. 

But, he can’t. 

“I’m not lying,” is all Will can get out, and it’s forced out through the lump in his throat as he holds back happy tears. Tom is nodding already, sticking out his hand, and nods even harder when Will asks, “Will you marry me?”

Will’s shaky hands take Tom’s hand, and put the ring on it. It fits him perfectly, and Will lets out a relieved little sigh when it does. 

“Yes, God, yes, you didn’t even have to ask, oh my God,” and Tom drops to his knees in front of Will, takes his face in his hands and kisses him hard. Will’s hands are shaking as he takes a hold of Tom’s face as he feels Tom’s new engagement ring dig into the skin of his cheek. And they cry, and they laugh, and they just absorb each other. 

And they’re happy, my God, they’re happy.


End file.
